The Memoirs of the New Game Pirates
by KingofMyWorld
Summary: When sailing the Grand Line, one must naturally expect the world to become bleaker. If not, what you will see can break you. But to start that journey fully aware of how dark and foul the world truly is can be torture; especially, when you are aware of your limits. But sometimes, there's something that makes it easier to cope... The New Game Pirates don't know what that is yet...
1. Game Start

Located in West Blue, was a city known for being the definition of 'backwards'. 'Vouloir', was a city where people lived and worked from evening to morning, and slept from morning to late-afternoon. Although, not many people worked anyway. So what did they do? Constantly they engaged in the joys commonly associated with nightlife: steaming social linkage, dubious drugs, aggressive alcoholism, rousing romance and perhaps the most blasphemous of all, treating the concept of sleeping at night like a portal to hell. Eventually, it got to a point where, the town's infamous reputation for 'shamelessly advocating the hedonistic lifestyle of the 'Great Pirate Era', as mentioned in the 'Four Ocean's Telegraph's article about Top Ten Towns of Taboo, grew larger with each passing day. Nonetheless, it was generally agreed upon by the residents and tourists alike that comparing a night of PRB to an honest to God night of fun was a bit silly, so they continued their partying ways without fear of repercussions.

Unfortunately, there is always that one person at a party, who actually hates the notion of 'fun.' This one person who you catch a glimpse of in the corner, immediately kills your vibe (and maybe you). That 'one' person who found himself out of sync with the exploits surrounding him was 17 year old Gaius Gris, whose only purpose in life was to get as much unnecessary sleep as possible.

Gris possessed, black skin and a black, medium-sized and messy afro. So messy was his afro that it almost looked like fibre of hair stood in their own direction after an electric shock. He had black eyes that were shaped in a perpetual expression of mild fatigue and black eyebrows that resided three cuts above them. His nose, whilst small in length, was wide, but not quite wide enough to be called large and his lips were shaped in a one-hundred and eighty degree line of apathy.

On his slim but muscular body he wore, an ultramarine oxford shirt with an unbuttoned grey cardigan over it and on his bottom half, he wore black coloured straight jeans with white loafers sans socks. The smart-casual attire not only severely contrasted the lad's perpetually sleepy demeanour, it made him look as if he either had an important event to attend or was one of the youngsters looking for a hot date.

Unfortunately, for the culture-shocked youth, many thought the latter. Thus: the drunken splendours of others, the futile attempts to start brawls made by others, the nonsense of others caused by drugs and the drunken/drug induced seduction attempts made towards him had completely stalled his true objective in Vouloir.

What was this true objective?

He forgot…

As time passed he grew too tired and too hungry and especially too thirsty to even try to remember.

In desperation for some reparations, he directed (what was supposed to be a prayer but ended up being) a moan towards the dark night sky. "…Dear Gods of the sky, isn't there an inn or hotel to sleep in for the night, preferably one where I can order food and drinks?"

*Silence…*

The desperate teen tried to explain himself, "Look, I understand that I am no faithful believer, in fact if I were not so desperate I would probably have never done this, but if you answer my question and lead me to a luxurious hotel, we can become friends with benefits…" He quickly caught and tried to rectify his erroneous ingenuity, "e-e-except the, um… biblical 'knowing'… is replaced with donating beri to your cause… What do you say?"

*Silence…*

He whimpered, "…No deal?"

Silence…

"…O-Okay then…" he unnaturally slunk to the ground and resigned himself to dying on his back with his arms spread out wide. The last sounds he would hear as he faded away from the spiritual plane, were going to be his rumbling stomach alongside the obscene grunting, shrieking and vomiting of the partying pricks around him. Gris didn't really appreciate how appropriate those noises were as a soundtrack to his pathetically approaching, anti-climactic end. "…Ugh…" he groaned in preparation for his famous last words, "… The least you could do… If I die… bury me… inside… a jewellery store…"

When all hope had been lost, suddenly, the melodramatic boy noticed, from the corner of his right eye, someone watching him. He tilted his head towards them.

Silently watching the youth's melodramatic monologue in entertainment was a real burly old bloke around 48 years old, sitting on some wooden steps outside a tavern. He possessed dark auburn hair and many wide features. Wide jovial looking brown eyes, a wide nose, a constant wide smile, a wide fighters jaw, a wide veiny neck, wide torso and wide legs, wide white sleeveless shirt, wide blue jogging pants with wide sandals and a wide checkered-brown rucksack.

In summary, he was fat. Muscular, but fat. So muscular and so fat that his shadow seemed to eclipse the entirety of the other shadows caused by the several 40-60 foot buildings that were adjacent to each other on the expansive road; and, he was only sitting down too!

Gris obviously kept this train of thought to himself, he didn't want his 'oh so graceful' final moments to be ruined by some 'off their heads' degenerates finding him crushed between some fatass' ass cheeks.

The christened 'fatty' spoke with a voice so gravelly that it seemed like he ate hardened cement for breakfast. "Hey kid, I was watchin' yer melodramatic monologue and I have to ask, what's that article in yer right hand about?"

"Hm?" Gris tilted at his right hand towards his line of sight. Inside it was a picture from a news article dated from a year ago. Like the sun, after spending eight days indoors (but without the hissing), recollection hit him hard. "Ahhhh!" completely forgetting how 'little' energy left, he sprang to his feet like popcorn.

With a burst of reserved excitement akin to the sizzling of good steak, Gris approach the 'old fatty' and held out the article. "Old fa- I mean, old man, do you know where the Berry Grand Hotel is?"

The Berry Grand Hotel was a grandiose establishment that was said to have over 200 rooms that weren't too big, but not too small – they were just right. According to the article, so was everything else: the service wasn't too overbearing, but still meals and whatnot were always delivered on time; all the facilities were well looked after and the staff were beyond professional. With all the acclaim, it was difficult to believe it was only built four years ago by two women and a bunch of children (some of them Gris' age). That being said, there were some rumours of doggy dealings circulating the hotel, but with no proof, no one could act upon them.

One of the women was a lady called Berry von Lopez. With the broad grin on her face that read 'look at me now, bitches' it was easy to see, contrary to what age is said to do, that the 42 year old lady still had an abundance of youth left with her. Next to her image, in Gris' eclectic handwriting was written, 'probably has lots of life stories = funny'. To the left of the older lady stood a much taller woman. She was 22 years old, probably around 5'11- 6'1 and in the picture taken, she wore an expression that made it seem like she really couldn't care less about the achievement. Despite the apathy, she still carried herself with a concoction of: confidence (perhaps arrogance), maturity, sophistication and sexiness. Due to this, the children, who wore black suits as their uniform, looked like slaves. Next to her picture was an X-mark drawn with great precision.

The old man laughed, obnoxiously loud. So loud he laughed that with his voice of cement, Gris was surprised that the act of laughing didn't kill him. "Yer lookin' for Annalise, aren't ya?"

An unreadable expression came over the lost teen. "How did you?-" Gris quietly began.

The Old man was more than pleased to elaborate, "Well you saw the picture right? She's an attractive young lady, ain't she? What if I told ya that as attractive as she looks in that photo, in person she's a radiant Goddess?"

Gris stroked his chin, he wasn't quite sure how he should answer and he let that uncertainty into his delivery, "I'd say that if she's a Goddess… then I… can't… I don't know… um… touch her? Y'know, because she's so… high… up….?"

The 'old bloke' stood as still as solid cement. For a brief second tension was palpable. Then he laughed. Loudly. Again "Well what ya know, kid," he trailed off into more laugher "'ere I thought you were some kinda sleepy dumbnut, but I guess yer one of them closet geniuses. **HAHAHAHA!** 'Goddess… can't touch her'… **HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"**

The nervous youth rubbed the back of his head and stared off into space in a facade of boredom to mask his confusion. "You're giving me _too_ much credit here. Anyway you still haven't told me why you guessed I was after Annalise."

**"Oh yeah!"** He smacked his right fist against his left palm in recollection and proceeded to clear his throat (not much good it served for a voice that gravelly, thought Gris) "Guys like three things, sports, fighting and 'knowing'. In a town like this, where dudes can freely indulge themselves in all that, you want the best piece of meat you can find, especially for that last one. For a lot of 'em, Berry von Annalise is the hottest and juiciest meat in town, but she's hella expensive."

Although listening to someone refer to a female as meat made him uncomfortable, Gris decided to indulge the man in what was to be a longwinded and convoluted explanation. "I take it you're going to explain why that is?"

The old dude nodded. "Yer goddamn right, I am" He cleared his throat again "…So, when one kid gets drunk, medicated, too rocked up on that macho crap, he gets it through his head that he can pull any girl he wants. He goes up to the hottest chick in town and struts his stuff. It's worked on every girl before, and since all girls, no matter what, are the same; it's obvious he's gonna score, right? **Nope, he gets rejected**. After hearing what happened, some other cool kid hears this. He goes to his pals like, 'I'm everything that guy isn't, but just as good at gettin' girls. I _know _can get her'. **He fails too, she doesn't even look him in the eye**. Then some other dude with the same mentality tries and **fails**, then the cycle keeps goin'. Eventually, every tourist hears about the Goddess that rejects every 'hot' guy that asks her out, but they'll try their hand and get burned. When they go back home, they tell their pals, and then their pals come and try too. **They fail**. The pals then tell their pals. They try. **They fail**. Until someone breaks that streak her price/desirability increases by day. Do you see what I mean?"

Gris nodded, however, "What does that have to do with me?"

"You tell me", was the response the bloke gave.

Rather than arguing against it, the tired youth opted to dedicate what was left of his brain power to indulge the burly man in his stupid game. "Ok… What I do know is that you saw me trying to sell my soul to the sky for a place to sleep, thus, you figured that I wasn't here to party. But, if I wasn't here to party, you thought the only thing I cared about was getting to… um… biblically 'know', Ms Berry von Annalise. However, due to my confused answer about not being able to touch a Goddess, you determined I wasn't here to bother Ms Berry for any perverted reasons and since you're actually quite perceptive, you seem to know that my intentions are fair enough. Is that the answer? "

The cool old bloke laughed heartily. "**HAHAHAHAHA!** Nice one. I guess you are smart then."

Gris tried to get the point whilst maintaining some civility, "You know what? For underestimating my… um… 'genius' (?), you should tell me where that hotel is."

The burly fella crossed his arms tightly against his chest in deep consideration, "Hmmmmmmmmm… It ain't that I don't wanna, it's just, well, ya see kid, I'm bad with explainin' directions," then lit he up like a house fire, "so I'll give ya this baby den den mushiiiiii~!" He shoved the den den mushi into Gris' left hand. "This way you can call someone to give you directions. Pretty cool, ay? "

"…Indeed…" was what Gris said as he turned his attention to the violet coloured den den mushi that wore an expression of apathy and thick red lipstick. Judging by the way it sat on his palm, it seemed to have some sort of attitude. "Well, here's hoping the student has surpassed the mentor" he thought to himself.

"One more thing!" He took a lunch box out of his bag and more or less shoved it into Gris' right hand causing the picture in it to crinkle. "Give this to Annalise, tell her it's for our 'fussy cassy'."

Hesitantly with an, "Er… sure…?" the demand was accepted.

"Thanks, kid" said, fatty.

"I suppose I should thank you for the den den mushi. So thanks." With that out of the way, Gris turned his attention back to the den den mushi in his palm. He pushed a button on its side and a very unusually feminine _*purupurupurupuru*_ resounded through the vicinity. Patiently he waited for his guide to pick up.

_*Katcha*_

**_"…I have to say, Gris…"_**

Those first lines caused the atmosphere to plummet, tremendously. It wasn't from the den den mushi, but if it wasn't then… Gone was the jovialness and the friendliness, if not for the cement-like voice, his profoundly foreboding tone would have made him unrecognisable. In shock, the young man snapped his head up to face the old man, who now stood and towered over him. This time, there was no hiding the unshakeable trepidation that began crawling unto him.

The hardened old master continued, **_"…you've picked an interesting place and time to begin your adventure. Very interesting. In this town that masks overbearing darkness with false smiles, false laughs, false cries of joy, and false attractions, what you'll do here will set the tone for the way the commoners of this town, the commoners of the world, those on the sea and those in charge will perceive you and believe me when I say, you'll have it harder than most. Why? Because most people see the brighter side of life before submerging themselves in despair. That way, they know what the exit looks like and then, they can claw towards the exit. You, on the other hand, will begin in the darkness and will inevitably find yourself submerged before you even realise the true nature of that light, alongside the true meaning of: wealth, fame and power. But once you have, you'll never be able to get lost again…"_**

He turned back to the burly old bloke with the wide smile, "Anyways, I'm gonna go visit my wife, I haven't seen her in around two years. This ain't goodbye, 'cause I'm sure I'll be seeing ya soon. In the Grand Line, that is. You catch that Annalise?"

Silence came from the other end of the den den mushi line, "…"

"Oh and Gris, tell Camila I said 'hi' would ya?"

Without a care in the world, the bloke walked off into the distance. Laughing a laugh that left both Gris and Annalise feeling incredibly uncertain.

For the first time ever, Gris cared about who that perceptive old man was and for a few second, he was left in crystal maze of thought. "Where could I have met him? How does he know Camila? Why does he know Camila? Why does he know me?"

There was no answer. No answer at all…

The only response he could think of was that, "... He called _**me**_ melodramatic?"

As if reading his mind, Annalise interrupted the chain of thought with her sensually husky and honest voice "…Hm! You should merely disregard him. I cannot count how often that old fool has enjoyed going on his foreboding and long-winded non-sequiturs"

But, the puzzled youth wasn't so convinced by her show of ambivalence. Regardless, he responded by saying, "…Indeed…"

Silence filled the air once more...

"So~ then… I suppose you have reached the Berry Great Hotel's costumer service line… I am the co-founder of this hotel, Berry von Annalise, how may I assist you?"


	2. Normal is Hard (in the West)

Seven minutes. From outside of that tavern, seven minutes is all that was spared to get to the front of the Berry Great Hotel. Unfortunately, seven minutes was four minutes longer than it should've been.

Once again, Gris had been confronted by more drunken pricks blocking his path with their drunken antics.

Why?

They heard Annalise leading him over the phone line. Apparently, only the alluring notes of her voice, even under distortion, were all that were needed to provoke men into either swarming the den-den-mushi: in adoration or in resentment for the rejection received at the hands of the regal-esque Regina. Fortunately, this would always spark a brawl between the 'Lovers' and 'Haters' and subsequently, they would all knock each other out.

Three times this happened "…about three times too many", thought Gris, as he stood outside regarding the hotel.

The boy took out the news article with the picture from his right-hand trouser pocket and threw it into the air because it didn't actually show the architecture in full.

So, consequently, it served as a surprise to the youth when he discovered that the hotel was actually more of homely little Gothic mansion. Amongst all the other small wooden taverns and small-medium sized timber houses/offices, it was a misplaced little Gothic mansion. With its expansive height and expansive width; with its grey bricks and ornate on every windowsill and arch in sight; with its: classical archaic nave roof, pinnacle, flying buttress, gargoyles and nearly everything else you would see on a Gothic building, one could say that the mantel possessed an abundance of aesthetic appeal.

Yet, for Gris, the exterior lavishness of the mantel concerned him very little.

All he thought about was how those brawls he witnessed were over a girl who: a) doesn't want them, b) they don't actually love. He sighed, then yawned, then looked down to the ground in exasperation, "Seems a bit pointless to be honest", he mumbled.

"What does?" said a familiarly husky, but not like a smoker's; deep, yet feminine; sensual but honest voice. Though strange hearing it without distortion, no doubt was it, Annalise's.

Gris whipped his head around to meet the woman's eyes, but instead met her closed eyelids. She stood, arms sternly crossed, in the shadows of her hotel. Evading the rising urgency to ask why, he answered her question, "The fact that they fight for you, not because they love you, but for some _'manly'_ competition."

She chuckled with a splotch of disdain. "…Are you seriously attempting to use their idiocy, as a plateau to elevate yourself within my eyes? How pathetic..."

"Actually," brushing off the insult, Gris looked off into the distance of the night, "I was just talking about what that 'Strange Burly Old Fatty Master' told me."

"O-oh…" her disdain immediately rubbed off. "Wait, 'Strange Burly Old Fatty Master'?" She took a second and not a second more, to realise who Gris was speaking of.

"That old buffoon, Santiago?"

"If by, Santiago, you mean the huge 'burly bloke' with auburn hair, then yeah" confirmed Gris.

Annalise almost wanted to ask him about his sudden change in terminology, but she relented; she had a gut-feeling the answer would only raise more questions. "Had he parleyed anything else in regards to me?" she carefully opted to ask.

Too carefully…

Pretending to not pick up the cautiousness, Gris went, "Nope." He decided to ask, just in case he got lucky, "Why?"

Curt and terse, she replied, "None of your business."

"…Ok~", and Gris relented. "Can I at least ask why you're standing, in the shadows of your hotel, with your eyes shut?"

"You may ask," she began, "but, do not think me rude if I refuse to answer…"

Sauntering out of the shadows and into the night's light, for the first time she actually bothered to engage in eye contact with the curious youth. "…After all," she smirked like a teacher putting a rebellious student in their place, "oft-times, it is the minuscule pieces of intelligence that define a being, is it not?"

Smooth, immaculate, olive skin as a canvas; chocolate-brown hair: parted to the right side of her face (the right part lay comfortably on her shoulders, the left side flowed down to her back) as a frame, she already surpassed one of those 'oh so beautiful' portraits of women, that were drawn by those blind artists commonly titled 'the greats'. Her coldly-bright, confident, intense carnelian-brown eyes, that seemed to do nothing but disregard, were covered by a thin layer of black eyeliner over her top eyelid. Their crystalline beauty captured – no, demanded devotion from man and nature – devotion that was euphorically submitted. Her nose, long and thin, was akin to a guardian angel of heaven, whilst her full, crimson red lips were akin to an arousing demon from hell. Some dared call the beauty mark on her chin an imperfection. But what beauty is there to find in perfection? None – her imperfection only added to her beauty, it made her more human.

Due to the figure-hugging, sleeveless, plain, violet coloured bodycon dress that she wore, it was easy to see, by gazing at her toned and salacious long arms and (especially) long legs that the angel was in fantastically athletic shape, whilst somehow retaining her soft, delicately sculpted, hourglass curves. Was it nature, or she who sculpted that body?

She. Because evidently, painstaking hard work, for hours on end, seemed to be the only way any aspect of her physique became realistically attainable. Said train of thought was even more enchanting. Almost as if, despite her current standing in the heavens, she was not created there, but instead defied and trod all over the nature of 'superior' creatures until she was permitted inside those pearly gates.

Watching the living angel, reminded Gris of his aunt's story about confronting a female tribe whose leader was determined via the criteria that, 'strength is beauty'. Gris loved that. And was there a better display of strength than clear hard work? No, not to Gris. That was why he desired that Annalise become his-

***Slap***

"Ouch", was the dull reaction from the young'un, upon being slapped. "Why?-" Gris asked before being cut-off.

"You were fantasising about something distasteful" she replied apathetically.

"I'm pretty sure I wasn't", replied Gris.

She replied, "I needed to be certain."

"…Indeed you did…" Gris muttered in resignation. Rather than continue on path to nowhere, especially when his urge for food, drinks and sleep were returning, he switched topics. "Speaking about stuff we need to be certain about, there are free rooms in the hotel, right?"

Continuously twirling a white card, which she pulled out of her cleavage, the reticent lady tilted her head upwards a slight and stared off into the distance, in disinterested thought.

Silence…

Gris contemplated, "Silence… maybe I'll call my next piece of work that – silence…"

Silence broken, Annalise answered, "Rooms: 215, 217 and 237 are currently unoccupied. I was about to inquire as to which room you preferred upon your arrival, but due to how long it took you to, I have already registered you – Mr Gaius Gris – to room 217. Oh, and worry not, we can discuss payments at the lobby. Any objections?"

"Not really."

"Great, now follow me", she walked into the hotel, at a not too leisurely but not too hurried pace.

Following in her stead, the teen had but one remark (that he kept to himself). "… I've been facing her front for so long that I didn't even see that she has a nice ass too. For shame, Gris. With all those curves, did you really think you'd be let down?"

The change from Friday night lights to mantel lighting, left Gris a tad surprised at how interior of the Berry Great Mantel kinda matched the exterior in Gothic-ness. Key word: kinda. It felt like: a) they went all in with the Gothic theme at first and then backed out or b) replaced the original concept with that of a madwoman's halfway in construction.

Exhibit A. The polished chequered tiles, with chess pieces imprinted onto them, were in such a pristine state that the teen almost thought it plausible that they would magically manifest to attack him. But since most of the floor was covered by a large and lengthy red carpet, which was ingrained with purple beauty berries on its borders, most of those chess pieces would have ended up trapped, thus giving him an immense advantage. Even more spectacular, considering they were in party central, there were no footprints, bloodstains or vomit puddles anywhere on said carpet.

He remarked, mainly to himself, "You guys must some have ace cleaners…" From behind he could've sworn he heard a faint giggle coming from the dismissive lady, but he didn't inquire.

Then he looked up to the ceiling which arched slightly outwards towards the sky. That was when Gris noticed, the mantel stopped being Gothic.

Exhibit B. On the ceiling (of all places) were post-modernist paintings of… stuff...

No, but seriously, folks… stuff…

Stuff… like… a bunch of colours everywhere.

Stuff, judging by her icy eruption into a rant, Annalise was not particularly fond of herself. "…Every day I pass by this lobby, and every day, I never look up. When I do, I am filled with great vengeance and furious anger at the dying bat who altered my tribute to the literature of the dark and demented. I am no artiste, but I view that ceiling as a symbol of the failures of contemporary art. Gone are the times of intricate paintings and portraits that showed the anguish and pain, blood and tears, of a tortured soul. We are now stilted in times where common fools claim to do the same by scribbling nonsense, like on that ceiling. Pitiful…"

Gris asked, "Aren't you, maybe, missing something? Sometimes, there is art in simplicity, isn't there?"

The regal-esque beauty seemed to think for a bit. "…Possibly… I do often ponder, 'why is it, the paintings of foul creatures on the luscious beige walls do not generate the acclaim of that… mess?'"

In short time, they reached a desk in the mantel lobby. Going through a brown 'Staff-only' door next to it, Annalise remerged behind the desk with a Polaroid camera. No warning, she snapped a picture of Gris. She snatched the picture out, stuck it to a sheet of paper, grabbed a pen from the desk and began muttering to herself as she filled out a profile for, "… Gaius Gris. Black. Black Hair: afro. 5 foot 9 inches. Approximately, 130-150 lbs. 19 years of age. Room 217." By shoving the profile over to his side of the desk, she pretty much demanded Gris jot his signature on to it.

So, he did as was demanded. Still, something bothered him. "Um… can I ask about food and drinks?"

But, Annalise seemed to be done with communication, "Here are the keys to your room on the fourth floor; to find the elevator lobby, walk through the doors on your right. Pertaining to dining requests, I suggest you do it from your room, the restaurant is crowded now. Besides, you strike me as a human of solitude." With the least amount of hospitality in the world, she finally said, "Enjoy your stay", then turned her attention to nothing in particular; she just sat on a butt cuddling swivel chair with her eyes shut.

"…Thanks…" replied Gris as he massaged his eyes. After sauntering over to the relatively empty lift lobby, he found eight lifts in total: four on the right and four on the left. Sans hesitation, the tired teen entered the first lift on his right which was held open by a male porter who couldn't have been any more than 14 years old.

"Fourth floor… Thanks…" Gris slurred in fatigue. He yawned, then sighed, yawned, then sighed as he felt the lift elevate him.

"Something wrong, Sir?" asked the young porter.

"*Yawn**sigh* getting Ms von Berry to convert to piracy isn't gonna be easy is it?" asked Gris ironically.

The young porter looked at Gris like he had blood seeping from every orifice. "Ms Annalise? Piracy? Are you havin' a laugh? Yeah, she's a bit tough, but a pirate?!"

"…Yep, a pirate", replied the older teen in quiet amusement, "I mean she is west blue's **'Gatekeeper of Sheol'**, I don't think readjusting would be all that hard."

Eyes widening, teeth chattering, finger – not nail – finger chewing, visceral fear carved itself onto the porters face upon mention of that title. "T-t-t-the_**'Gatekeeper of Sheol' is Ms Annalise?! ARE YOU INSANE?"**_ luckily the closed doors kept that noise subdued.

"Well~ yeah…"

***Ding*** the lift reached the fourth floor.

As the lift's doors opened and light began scrambling through, possessing a smirk worthy of a little conqueror, the young dreamer dared to take refuge in audacity.

**"… At the end of the day, I won't be the only one trying to become Pirate King!"**

… He walked out of the lift, leaving the porter in pure awe...


	3. Post-Intro Cutscene

4.35am, in the town of Vouloir.

Everyone was still (maybe) alive and partying, except for the night staff of the Berry Great Hotel, who were a bit tired of dealing with some of the more difficult guests. Y'know, people like those teenagers who love to celebrate their 18th birthdays by acting like entitled assholes in places not called 'home'. They weren't the only ones, but they did make up a good bit of them. Sadly, because pricks were now gonna spend the next two hours bursting into the hotel with their impaired friends accompanied by immature antics, the night staff had to soldier on for four more gruelling hours until their shift ended at 8.35am. And just in case they ever forgot about when their shift ended,, they would frustratingly glance at the unstressed smug pans of the morning staff, because all the screwed up guests were bound to be asleep during the mornings. In fact, the only peeps awake in the mornings were business types who spoke about stuff that only Madam Lopez and Ms Annalise would understand, or, those who didn't party and thus didn't force their body to override their mental clock.

…Then there was Mr. Santiago, but usually due to his jovial, concrete-like laughter, you could hear him approximately 10 minutes before he actually arrived, luckily allowing 10 vital minutes for the kitchen staff to prepare food for that guy to absorb.

Members of the staff who were especially prone to being victimised by the antics of the more annoying guests, were the 14-year old porters, who would now and again take a little break to recuperate their willpower.

One was a boy who had brown hair and brown eyes, the other, a girl, had short blonde hair and blue eyes. They both wore a white dress shirt with a purple waistcoat on top, and black dress pants with black shoes, as that was the BGH porter uniform.

Anyways, during this little break, they would excitedly share gossip that they overheard when passing by the rooms of guests. In fact, just the other day, they heard a marine talk about finding out the identity of the 'Gatekeeper of Sheol' and his attempt to ask Annalise out on a date – which failed.

…Speaking of that dreaded figure…

(The Gatekeeper, of course.)

"… He said what!?" astoundingly exclaimed the fem porter, who sat cross-legged on the red carpet of the homely, medium-sized staff room.

"He thinks that 'Gatekeeper of Sheol' monster is Ms Annalise" repeated the boy porter, who sat opposite the girl, also with his legs crossed on the red carpet.

"N-no way. Sure, she's tough, but ta do what that psycho does…" The girl gasped in horror, "What if he tells the marines his deduction or even worse, the King of Illusia? She'd be screwed, they already don't like Ms Annalise - she's turned down every single one of 'em!"

The boy took a moment to himself. "…Hmmmmmmmmm~ Somehow, I don't think he will…"

He told his companion about the 'Pirate King' proclamation.

For a second or two or three or four or five, the fem porter's jaw dropped in pure amazement. In hushed excitement, the young teenage girl said, "Wow… Pirate King? That's like, the freest person in world…" Her demeanour changed from hushed excitement, to the embodiment of everlasting excitement. "Geez, Aco, you made it seem like he was some kinda top-notch asshole."

Aco responded, "Ain't he?

She spelled out the word "N-O-P-E!" with feminine gusto. She added, with grand gestures (seemingly to make the words sink in, that) "He wants ta be **THEEEEEEE**~ Pirate King…" Suddenly, she shifted gears, "Hey, Aco?"

"What?" flatly responded Aco.

With sparkles of hope in her eyes, the fem porter asked, "How old is he?"

"I don't know, Dia. Probably too old for you." Young Aco tried to steer the discussion back on topic, "Besides, we need to figure out what we're gonna do-"

Dia rapidly flailed her arms around, "NO HE AIN'T?! No one is too old for anyone these days! I-I-I… bet…YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS 'CAUSE YOU AIN'T COOL LIKE HIM!"

Aco grew cartoon-ishly incensed. "WHY WOULD I BE JEALOUS OF SOME T*** WHO'S PROBABLY GONNA DIE BEFORE HE MAKES IT TA 21?!"

Dia retorted, "BECAUSE HE WON'T, F***T***!"

Aco repeated, "F***t***?!" in astonishment. "TAKE THAT BACK YOU BI-"

"_Oh dear_," resounded the dulcet tones of the woman who inspired many of chilling elegies, "_not only are we shirking our bountiful duties, but we are also engaging in a riptide of poppycock... No matter…_"

The young teens were too scared to even look their eternal superior in the eye.

Until…

"… _**5 seconds…"**_

As if the words were actually freezing them, little Aco and little Dia, robotically rotated their heads to face the doorway.

There stood their young boss, with eyes as cold and piercing as a creature from above. "_5 seconds until I cleanse you're filthy tongues with my near and dear gunpowder…"_

Without even an attempt to stand their ground and rebel, the children, riddled with teeth clattering, cold sweat inducing fear, shook their heads violently. "Please don't!" they wanted to beg, but the lack of saliva in their mouths left them yelping like puppies caught eating their owner's homework.

"_Oh! You do not desire said punishment? Then perhaps you wish to return to performing the tasks that I remunerate you for. After all, I am a being of mercy, which you comprehend by how I have given you both an ample amount of time to return to them… Speaking of which…" _

"_**5… 4… 3..."**_

Clumsily the two kids jumped off the carpet floor and dashed out to somewhere that they could be found working.

…Once the kids were out of sight, Annalise's expression thawed to reveal a tiny, yet telling smile on her face. A smile that she wore back to the lobby desk.

"Oh, Ms Annalise," called out Dia, who went so far past the lobby desk, that she had dash back towards it at a quicker pace than she ran away from it. "Aco said that the dude in room 217 is looking for the 'Gatekeeper of Sheol'. He wants her ta be in his Pirate Crew because she's really strong and he wants ta be **THEEEEEEEEE~ **Pirate King."

The apathetic queen returned to her throne. Bluntly, she demanded to know, "In what way does that involve me?"

Dia continued, "He thinks you're her, but its'not you, is it?"

"Of course not" the young woman brushed the inquiry off her shoulders with the greatest of stern serenity.

"Ok!" cheerfully replied the child.

Forgetting what her purpose was, Dia just stood in front of her boss; who stood over her desk with her eyes shut and arms crossed.

And then, this blood-pumping, heart-stopping, seat-clenching, tear jerking and heart-warming exchange (,that was so genius level it probably went over all of your heads and into the yeezus zone of time-space continuum where could one witness the birth of nothing,) occurred.

"…"

"…..."

"…"

…..

…The young boss was eager to remind the child of her purpose.

"_**5… 4… 3… 2…"**_

The young girl dashed off again.

Once Dia was finally out of sight (plus probably working again), Annalise once again sat in her amazingly comfortable, butt-cuddling, back caring, swivel chair. Inside a drawer in her desk lay profiles of guests that were dated from two months back-to-present. From the profiles under the 'Room 200s' section, she took the ones that were labelled '215-219'. Rather quickly, she sorted and sifted until she pulled out the profile of the person she had recently assigned to room 217: Mr Gaius Gris, and placed it onto the desk. She shut the drawer.

Then, from 'Victoria's Secret Compartment', she retrieved a folded piece of paper titled 'GoS Sightings'. The cold queen leisurely unfolded the paper and for the first time since she received it the day before, she read its contents.

"_Name: Unknown._

_Race: Unknown._

_Sex: Unknown._

_Epithet: 'Gatekeeper of Sheol'._

_Age: Unknown_

_Bounty: Unassigned_

_Subject is a bounty hunter who in the past had successfully killed/turned in several infamous pirates that operated in this sea (West Blue). _

_However, two and a half years ago, the subject was involved in the ill-famed: __**Blood Water Incident**__ that saw 20 marines and 10 guards from the Kingdom of Illusia killed with their blood drained into the ocean surrounding the Island._

_Unfortunately, the subject promptly disappeared from the Island and had seemingly appeared at numerous places in this sea, killing civilians and pirates alike without rhyme or reason. But now, thanks to various sources, we have grounds to believe that the subject resides in the town of Vouloir, yet the last thing we wish to do is make hasty movements that will startle that phantom into masking their presence once more._

_Therefore, although already discussed with one of you owners: Madam Berry von Lopez, we in the Navy would like to cooperate with the Berry Great Hotel staff. With the help of your establishment, we will be able to administer absolute justice to that madman. In this case, we will require you to use any means necessary to obtain information in regards to the subject, if you deem the intelligence relevant, report it to us using the Den Den Mushi attached to the envelope. In compensation for any bad rumours you may receive if found out, any damages caused to the hotel will be paid by us._

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Navy._

_P.S._

_Would the younger, Ms Berry von Annalise, be ready to try handling a real man of the sea? If so, hit me up, baby."_

Once finished digesting the report, Annalise laughed a noblewoman's laugh, "Fufufufufufufufu". Apparently with words like 'ill-famed, promptly and absolute justice', she found the report a bit too rigid to be taken completely seriously.

After her unseen laughing fit was over and done with, she regarded Gris' profile with curiosity and a sprinkle of amusement in her eyes. She grabbed a black pen that lazily lay on her desk and drew an 'X-mark' on the boy's picture.

Returning the report into her secret compartment, but leaving Gris' profile on the desk, the heavenly creature wrote a brief note on the lobby desk, 'My shift is finished'.

Annalise, brimming with 'absolute' ('*giggle*') confidence, proclaimed to herself, _**"Come the dawn of day, I believe Mr Gaius Gris will certainly be enlightened…"**_

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not gonna lie, this chapter was an excuse to formerly introduce myself. But, I suppose it makes the next chapter easier to write.<strong>

**I'm the King of my World and you are (probably) reading my fanfic 'The Memoirs of the New Game Pirates' (MNPG).**

**This isn't my first fanfic, I once began writing one for BlazBlue over a year ago, but due to my CPU (is that abbreviation still in use) breaking and losing my written chapters, alongside me falling out of love with the series, I couldn't be bothered to continue it. This fanfic, I've had in my mind for ages now, but the ideas, even when I wrote the first chapter for this arc, were a bit unclear.**

**Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin, who I thank for reviewing my 1st chapter, asked if I was accepting OCs. I think I will. On the bottom of my profile page, I'll post some kinda form for you peeps to fill out and send to me via that private messaging (PM?) thing. I'll tell you now, Warlords and Yonko aren't really in demand until much, much, much, much later on. But you can still put up an OC who was a former shichibukai if you wish.**

**Lastly I'll introduce a game. See if you can spot all my intentional music references in these past 3 chapters. First 3 get... something? Probably, immediate OC acceptance (because apparently I'm a user of worth around here...)**

**(...That was a joke...)**

**On a more serious note, thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far.**

**Leave a review if you feel like it. Criticism is welcome, as long as it is constructive.**


	4. Unlock Special Ability: Lvl 1

**"...Holy holy", is the song lyric that describes the pain of remembering my writing style after a two-three-four week break. As for what I was doing, I was buying and listening to CDs like: Led Zeppelin - 'IV', 'Miseducation of Lauryn Hill' and 'Nabuma Rubberband. Also, university stuff.**

**So yeah, long chapter, as par for the course. I never meant for it to be this way, but it just happens; I even cut it shorter than it was originally gonna be and still ended up with just under 2000 words. At least this way next chapter may have a fight scene in it.**

**Reminder that I am accepting OCs, if you want to submit one, go onto my profile and scroll to the bottom to fill put form/sheet. Please send your creation via PM.**

**Anyway, if you're still reading this story for whatever reason, I thank you. Leave a review if you feel like it (constructive criticism is also welcome).**

* * *

><p>11.30am.<p>

After waking up from an amazing sleep in an amazing love-heart red mantel room, our aspiring juvenile decided, rather than wasting his morning exploring the town, he would relax in his mantel room. In order, he: brushed his teeth in the pristine (as expected) bathroom, then took a shower, put his clothes back on and lastly, with both hands on head, plus a yawn, laid down on the softer than softer than soft bed he slept in during the night. By shutting his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift towards less business-like and more menial, yet fairly important topics.

For example, upon arriving in his room, he was met with a complementary dinner for simply registering. It consisted of a fat whole chicken, several sweet potatoes with gravy and rice for the main dish; 10 gorgeously sweet Puff-puffs and a slice of cheesecake for desert. However, if one thing truly captured him, it was the drink: 'The Perfect Vanilla Milkshake' in how it washed away the glorious taste of the meals, but not before refreshing his memory of the goodness that occurred in his mouth.

"Hm? I wonder how much that 'huge dude' could eat..."

Just what he was trying to avoid: thoughts of Santiago, and though it hadn't happened since the previous night, he knew that speckles of that 'long-winded non-sequitur' would permeate his brain.

**"…** **In this town that masks overbearing darkness with false smiles, false laughs, false cries of joy, and false attractions…"**

The aspiring juvenile yawned. "Seriously, what does that even mean?"

Accepting the natural progression of his thought pattern, Gris exerted a bit more of his brain power into remembering everything that the 'Burly Bloke' had said to him during their exchanges.

But, only one thing came to mind.

**"_Give this to Annalise, tell her it's for our 'fussy cassy'"_**

His eyes widened.

Gris sprung off the perfect bed and ran to a corner where his bag lay as comfortably as he had in his bed. Frantically, he rummaged through it until he found the lunch box given to him by Santiago. Surprisingly and luckily, the food was still quite hot, therefore only a little re-heating was needed.

"Well... I suppose I feel bad for someone not getting a full meal, like I did. I would try to find Annalise, but… I… don't… know… where…." he was shaken off by something."Why is the floor trembling?" he questioned under his breath whilst looking up at the door.

It was a stampede of footsteps. If not mistaken, which he wasn't, Gris seemed to believe that they were getting closer and closer and closer, until they abruptly stopped.

From this point on, he kept his thoughts locked up.

_Are they in front of my door?_ The aspiring captain quietly closed his bag and wore it strapped over his left shoulder. He walked to, and assumed a seated position on the edge of the bed that lay facing his door.

***THUD* *THUD*** came a boot to the door of room 217.

_Ah… there's my answer_. Gris stroked his chin.

"If you weren't awake then, you are now", unashamedly announced a young (about Gris' age) masculine voice from the other end of the door. "Hey, grunts, you can head back now, you aren't needed" dismissively suggested the aggressive young man.

Both realising that said suggestion was more of a demand, and lacking in authoritative rank (even though it pained their egos being bossed about by some temperamental child), the grunts did as they were told and stampeded back down to the ground floor.

Returning his attention back to room 217's guest, the volatile young man hollered, "Hey asshole, get your ass out here."

In response, gears began shifting in Gris' brain as he blankly stared at the red wall to his right. _Isn't that a kinda redundant sentence…?_

***THUD* *THUD***

The kicks broke him out of his thought and sent him right into another. _After all the partying going on last night, I'm surprised no one is taking offense to this prick's missing hospitality._

"Oy, bastard, d'you mind!?"

He heard room 218's guest groggily call out the 'Unhospitable Wonder Prick' (UWP).

"Me and my girl are trying to sleep here, so can you move alo-"

Without even regarding the guy, the rowdy punk replied with a hint of a slither, "I'll force your tongue down your throat and make you cough it up, if you don't silence yourself."

The guy, seeing the seriousness in the prick's voice, immediately rescinded into his room like one of those 'fast children' caught up in a drug deal or a criminal investigation.

_Wow... poor dude. His 'girl' is probably gonna give him shtick for that. Kinda wish I could see it happen, he'd probably be like 'At least I tried', or something…_

"Back to you, Mr. Gaius Gris" the porter managed to get Gris' attention. For how long would he be able to hold it? Not even the sky Gods knew. "You've got 10 seconds to get out here before I bust in there."

"SPA! WAAAAIIIIIIT!" screamed a young female, almost with, what felt like, premature timing. Catching the unhospitable prick off guard, the girl tackled him to the ground.

The mental commentary continued. _Wow, poor dude. He didn't even get time to start his dramatic countdown._

"Dia!" he spoke as if chastising a little sister. "Why are you still here and why do you give a shit about what happens to that money dodging scum?"

Gris did a restrained double-take at being referred to as 'money dodging scum', but thought nothing else of it.

Passionately, Dia answered. "BECAUSE THAT GUY WANTS TA BE THEEEEE~ PIRATE KING!"

"Pirate King? Do I look like I give a shit?" responded Spa, he seemed so engrossed in his anger that he may not have even heard the outburst. "Just get off me!" the agro-ed teen demanded.

Dia frantically elaborated, "Don't ya realise what that means!? He wants ta be THEEEEEEEE~ freest person in the world."

How she knew about his dream was not of importance, and whilst it was nice that he had somehow gained himself a fanatic despite not doing anything noteworthy yet, Gris sensed his opportunity for escape coming inbound and finally, fully turned his attention to the conversation at hand.

Without skipping a beat, the angry teen stated, "I still don't care" and judging by the *Thud* removed Dia from whatever body part she was restricting him from using (his leg). Promptly he returned to the source of his anger, "Now then..." The counting commenced, "10-"

"Hmph." A slight heave and Gris sprang off his bed; this was the opportunity he sensed earlier and now he knew why it came. With pure confidence oozing from every pore in his body, these words seeped out of his mouth:

"**Does he actually think he'll get to 'one'…" **

To Gris, it was obvious 'UWP' thought this would play like some kind of cool movie; him (UWP) being the cool interrogator.

"But for that to work," Gris began stretching out his arms, then legs, then ankles and finally neck, "your suspect needs to feel pushed into a corner."

"9"

As the countdown continued between 9-8, preparations for the technique Gris was about to use were nearly over. Honestly speaking, the move was far out of his league, so whilst it wasn't gonna be nearly as explosive as the pros, it was still gonna be unstoppable (and damn exhausting). Sauntering to the door with an unreadable expression, Gris took a brief last glance around his perfect red room; chances were, he wasn't gonna be staying in the hotel ever again. Coldly, almost as if his hands and fingers were nothing but soiled and mangled white bones, he clutched the door's handle and peeled said door open.

Time seemed to slow down immeasurably from that moment on, thus when the door was at least ¾ of the way open, he caught a glance of Spa the 'Unhospitable Wonder Prick'. With his brown hair, sharp brown eyes, and plain black suit, Gris could tell that this guy probably did have some fighting experience under his belt. Whether or not his experience matched up to Gris' was another story. A story not worth wasting time on right now. He also caught a glimpse of the pretty little blonde porter, who admired his goal to become 'Pirate King'. Looking at her uniform, it was obvious to Gris that she probably found out about his dream from the little boy porter in the lift with him the other day. _Perfect._ Gris hastily hatched together another plan.

Quicker than a blink of an eye, the audacious teen kicked off the ground at least ten times and like death itself, frostily exhaled the name of the technique:

"**Soru..."**

Like the quick and clean shave from a razor, Gris swiftly grabbed and held Dia under his right arm as if she were the lightest parcel ever, dashed away past the beige walls and brown doors towards the lift area where lo and behold, he met an already closing lift. He whooshed ahead of some people who also arrived in time for the lift to close and managed to get through the gap presented to him. For reassurance of destination, Gris pushed the button that read 'G'.

He looked up and saw the faces of the people he was cutting-off. "Sorry" he said lazily.

When he did, time resumed for everyone else.

Dia suddenly found that her eyesight shifted from the dark black orbs of her idol, to the black of his jeans, the white of his loafers and found herself floating off the ground with his arm around her torso. When she tilted her head to see the man's face, she only saw his grey cardigan and a bit of his ultramarine shirt. This alone made her face shift to darker and darker, yet brighter and brighter shades of red.

Spa's reaction was less bashful or cute. Slowly, mechanically even, he turned his body to his left where 27 meters away, if not further, stood his target holding his comrade hostage. As the lift's doors gradually closed on his opportunity for a rescue, he felt insulted.

Humiliated.

Yet he tried to run after anyway, but sadly couldn't even cover 10 meters before the doors of the lift closed shut.

"Damn it!" he grunted.

He frustratingly rummaged around his pocket and found a white Baby Den Den Mushi that was decked out in all sorts of jewellery. After a deep inhale, he pressed the small button by one of its sides.

"*Purupurupurupuru… purupurupurupuru… puru…* *Katcha*"

"Madam Lopez, it's me, Spa" he started.

On the other end of the line was a very operatic if not dramatic voice belonging to the older owner of the establishment: Berry von Lopez. "My dear, Spa~ doth thou call to report thine success?"

"…"

"(Gasp) Thou hath not?" Madam Lopez did not wait for a response. "Oh dieu. How? No matter, the guards can still-"

Through gritted teeth, the porter reported, "I'm afraid not, Madam. He's probably long gone by now. Besides, he kidnapped Dia…"

_Effectively creating a hostage_, she mentally finished. "Oh dieu oh dieu oh dieu oh dieu. W-well, are you not going to take care of it or do I have to call the marines?"

"…Call the marines. Gaius Gris, was it? He's dangerous. How much so, I can't even say."

Suffice to say, 'twas not the answer that the refined Madam expected. "…Spa, get down here and cleanse your body and soul with food and drinks. You are the Berry Grand Hotel's top security guard and you **will** catch him and save our little darling."

No other words, but a verbally salute were needed. "Yes madam."

She hung-up.

Before he departed on his way to the ground floor, the humbled guard glared at the number plate on room 217's door. "…Freest man in the world" he had to admit, the title didn't sound bad at all.


	5. Get Ready to Rock

**I did it, WOOOOO! I wrote a chapter under 2,000 words and I did it all by my sweet, little, old self (as I usually write chapters).**

**Yeah, so remember when I said fight scene last chapter?**

**Next chapter. Speaking of fight scenes, I've only wrote one before and that involved someone getting utterly dominated for the whole chapter. It was fun to write though, it almost makes me miss writing my BlazBlue FF, primarily because back then I wrote the chapters to the BlazBlue's awesome soundtrack. Now, I'm not saying One Piece's soundtrack is bad ('cause it isn't, it's very good), but I am saying that the non-movie soundtracks are organised too weirdly for me to make a playlist out of them.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter, leave a review if you feel like it, OC stuff, etc, etc.**

**DISCLAIMER:**

**I do not own the rights to One Piece, its characters, its setting. I do however, own my OCs and this story.**

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><p>Nightlife: the wicked mistress of daylife, had taken its toll on any aesthetic desirability that Vouloir may have claimed to possess. Seriously, the town bloody well looked like pirates came and played games that involved eating each other's vomit (after devouring corpses and drinking stale urine), then spewing it back out like a fire breather choking on fire. The person who hit the most people or buildings, would win, and apparently there were several top contenders for whatever stupid title one would get for winning such stupidity. However, on the brighter side, this did mean that not a single soul corrupted the streets with their presence; which was a blessing, primarily because Gris and Dia could utilize the roads as one gargantuan race and chase game board, if further need be.<p>

For the time being though, the two exercised their 'Kit kat' cards and rested in a crevice between two tall and clean (not as tall and clean as the Berry Grand Hotel) grey office buildings far away from said establishment.

Sitting on the ground against one of them was our aspiring high-horse criminal, in the process of huffing and puffing, huffing and puffing. Gris hoped he wouldn't have to use Soru again for the rest of the day, but, he knew better.

5 meters to his right, was Dia, also in the process of readjusting to life as she knew it. The aforementioned technique left her tipsily tumbling into the two walls surrounding her, like a Ping-Pong ball. Garishly, she giggled every time she had done so and hiccuped when she didn't. Ultimately, that ended when she puked up enormous amounts of chunks onto the ground.

Regarding the poor sight, Gris couldn't help but feel some kind of artistic inspiration. _Maybe I should name my next work, 'The Vouloir Graffiti'. _

At the same time, he held out a tissue he had gotten from his bag. He asked, Dia, "You feeling better now?"

"Yep…" she said in anxiety for the puking sensation to return. It didn't. With more certainty, she repeated the confirmation, "Yep, feelin' awesome!" Running to Gris with a spark in her eye, she proclaimed, "But not as AWESOME AS YOU WERE. Y-Y-YOU WERE SOOOOO~ COOOOOOOL! SUCH AUDACIOUSNESS, SUCH BLINDING SPEED, SUCH TESTICULAR FORTITUDE-"

Gris interjected (to quieten her down a bit), "Such idiocy. The marines are gonna be after me now, I could be captured before I've even started a crew."

Strangely to the blonde haired porter, neither his vocal tone nor body language seemed to show any excessive whinge whatsoever. Naturally, it led her to believe that, "You expected this ta happen, didn't ya?" She smirked coyly, as if she were partaking in some grand secret.

"Um, not really… I did expect the marines to be here, but I didn't expect that I'd be their target… already…" he answered apathetically. Recollection hit the mentally meandering boy, "That reminds me, do you know where Annalise is right now? I need to give her a lunch box for a~ 'Fussy Cassy'? "

1 sec, 2secs, 3secs, 4secs, 5secs, 6secs, she entered into thinking mode. Suddenly with her right fist, Dia bonked her own forehead as if to say 'well duh~', "She's probably at Ms Fussy Cassy's house right now. I can show you the way if you don't want ta get lost (and so I can spend time with you)?"

Gris weighed up the pros and cons of the request, until he just stopped caring. Making sure to not step in any vomit, food, drinks, etc, he stood up and said, "Sure, lead the way."

"Okie dokie then, LET'S GO!" Finally noticing the tissue in Gris' hand, grabbing it and wiping her mouth of the remnants of sick, Dia left the shadows of two offices with her crush in tow. Mentally she celebrated the quick victory by singing a song of love. "~Always, I wanna be wi-"

_***BANG BANG BANG* *BANG BANG BANG* *BANG***_

The joys of the previous moments were pierced by the sounds of gunshots. Gunshots resounding everywhere.

Both adolescents pondered the same things, with varying degrees of fear:

_Were they close or far away?_

_(If so,) how close or far were they?_

The correct answers: close and very close.

Like a zombie, a man came staggering from the shadows of a broken down tavern situated less than 30 meters across from the two teens. He had 10 gunshot wounds from his torso, down to his legs. It was almost as if one left all the drains in a bathroom sink plugged whilst all the water valves were left on, for two hours straight.

_***BANG***_

A bullet straight through the man's temple dealt the confiscating blow to his life and as he hit the ground, a cheap (especially when compared to Madam Lopez's tastes) silver locket that was tainted with blood fell from his right hand and landed by a frozen Dia's feet. Robotically, she crouched down to inspect it within her tiny, little and unsteady hands. Just as she was due to crack it open, the sound of a flintlock pistol being cocked stunned her upright.

Standing on the dead man's body was a slim and shady figure covered from head-to-toe in a black bodysuit.

Hands in pockets, Gris wondered if the shady person was an assassin sent by the hotel staff. After regarding the corpse's white shirt and blue trousers, he dismissed that thought. _A marine, (probably, if my info is right) looking for the same person I am, (in a sense)._

But if so, the navy most likely wouldn't have just sent one measly little marine after her. _So just how many did he kill, and why?_

Trembling, Dia started in a strained whisper, "Don't kill us…"

The assassin responded, his speech heavily distorted. "…Little child, you have no need for worry… I won't benefit from killing your friend…"

Whilst it was nice to know her crush would be safe, it didn't stop the young porter's heart from convulsing in her chest. "…What about-?"

The Black-clothed assassin forcefully interjected. "You, on the other hand, are now very important. If I kill you, I am 100% certain that our message shall be understood. Although, it is a shame that so many people had to die just for this…"

Futilely she begged, her voice still strained from the fear of imminent death. "P-please don't kill me…"

She stumbled back a step. Catching a glimpse of Gris' back, she almost pleaded that he save her somehow. Unfortunately, deep down in her malfunctioning mind, she knew that no matter how calm he tried to look, exhaustion from his swift Soru run still troubled him.

The assassin issued an empty reassurance, "Be proud, young child, you will go down as a martyr for not only our kingdom, but for all of West Blue."

Without even a deadpan 'goodbye', the assassin, pulled the trigger of his gun.

***BANG BANG***

...

Dia's world went pitch black, but not before hearing a shrill shriek; it lasted several more seconds than it should have, leading the girl to consider, _Was that… me?_

Like a creature being born anew, she opened her eyes and at a deliberate pace inspected herself for bullet holes. "There aren't any…" she muttered in astonishment. "…How did I-" she caught sight of something even more amazing.

"Wow, I-I guess I was wrong"

Somehow, someway, definitely using his 'Incomplete Soru' Gris had ran up to the shady assassin and divorced him from the flintlock with a mere slap on the man's right wrist.

The black-clothed enigma briefly gasped. Consequently, he jumped back towards the darkness of the alleyway he came from. He spoke, "That was a good move. Soru, it is called? I am surprised that a novice like you knows how to use it, albeit incompletely." It became clear that he had a new threat to his mission – a threat he would quickly resolve. "No matter, I suppose I will kill you after all."

"Well, then good luck", replied Gris, with a smirk. "However, since I'm a nice guy and all, I think I'll give you a little warning…"

"Oh? Please do?" beckoned the assassin.

With an echoing ***CRACK*** in all of his joints, to the revulsion of both Dia and the shady assassin, Gris outstretched all of his limbs in several unnatural ways and then commenced in altering his stance into something he deemed more battle worthy.

Methodically, he hunched his back over as if he were the most tranquil yet rabid animal on the prowl for human: flesh, blood, bones and souls. Loosely, he dangled his arms in front of him as if they were carelessly wedged prosthetic scythes; hypnotically they swayed back and forth, back and forth, ready to be masked by pure crimson. Gleefully, his countenance suggested the fruitlessness of opposing his petrifying control over life itself, because the boy was indeed a master of emotional control. Purposefully, in his only fundamental action, he spread his legs shoulder width apart: his left in front of his right and knees bent. But, it only made him more gruelling to observe

Gaius Gris: disturbing, chilling and damned near otherworldly, didn't seem like a fighter. What he did seem like was an embodiment of death.

Was his heart even beating?

Dia, doubted it. Like a painting where each stroke was made with crackling skeleton-like fingers; tainted by the blood of countless individuals, Gris' resemblance crawled into her unguarded psyche.

_A reaper…_ _He looks like an Undead Reaper_…

In a tone similar to his regular (fairly deep, slightly monotone and kinda lazy), but infinitely more systematic, the 'Undead Reaper' declared to the stunned assassin that:

_**"Unless I want you to, long-range or short-range, you won't be able to touch me, or her… not even once…"**_


End file.
